


as sweet as the sound

by NothingSnow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Guns, Slow Burn, Strangulation, depictions of mental illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSnow/pseuds/NothingSnow
Summary: “Wake up, Subject Sigma. You cannot daydream forever.”
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

He met her many years ago. When she was still in University-- perhaps shortly thereafter. Her hair was short, bright like her eyes -- yet even brighter was her smile. When he sat down in the audience hall at the convention, He’d merely skimmed over her work she was presenting to them. Some fanciful concept of technology that could heal wounds in moments.

But as the young doctor strode on stage, the quiet, appropriate applause of the scientists and doctors and engineers around him all but melted away. She was young, nervous, naive. She wore a black dress, form-fitting and professional. It had short sleeves, rested at her knees with a flourish of fabric and lace, and a cinched belt of the same color accentuated her features. Her short hair had been half-pulled back, an attempt to make her perhaps look more mature. She was only twenty four. A prodigy in her field of bioscience and engineering. 

And while it was not his area of expertise, he couldn’t help but applaud with everyone else. 

He listened to her speak. She was Swiss-- he’d recognize that accent anywhere, even as she spoke English to the best of her ability. She spoke first of her upbringing-- what drove her to stand on that stage, in front of the greatest minds of the world. She spoke of the Crisis, and how too many had died. How too many children just like her had lost everything. Her life, her upbringing in a monastery, hidden away like something precious. Growing up so isolated, their only news from an archaic radio. But that it didn’t define her. That she was born to be what she became. She spoke of the caduceus technology that had been her thesis of study. A nanotechnology to amplify a human body’s own healing abilities-- thusly ignoring the human body’s rejection of microscopic robots. It could be produced cheaply, quickly, and even applied in various forms-- a gel, an electromagnetic stream, an IV mixed with other essential fluids. It was remarkable. She’d done all her equations correctly. The formulae easily adjusted for a person’s individual biometric need. In the face of the Crisis, and its aftermath, the entire audience hung on the edges of their seats. This would save countless lives and revolutionize battlefield medicine, along with traditional medicine. A figurative cure for cancer. 

Another device to boot-- a suit, hooked in to a cybernetic spine. It allowed combat medics to quite literally fly to where they were needed. Out of harm’s way, or perhaps a momentary distraction long enough to finish off whatever enemy needed to be dealt with. Invasive, perhaps, but Ingenious. 

As her presentation went on, and she asked for the backing of researchers around them, he leaned forward ever so slightly, looking around. Gauging the audience. Murmurs abounded, perhaps colleagues deciding yae or nay. 

A blonde man in navy blue caught his attention. Decorated with medals. 

_Overwatch was here._

And judging by the look on the man’s face, Angela Ziegler was about to get herself an offer. Overwatch was certainly an astounding place to go right after her schooling. Or… She had spoken of her time in that hospital. Perhaps it had been an internship? _No, no, no._

He was happy for her. Even if the two had never met, and likely never would. She was brilliant. Capable. Yet there was simply something about her that perplexed him. Even as the event ended with a standing ovation, his prediction of an offer coming true, and the weeks after that passed, he simply couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

She was beautiful. Like an angel or cherub descending from some michelangelic painting from the ceiling of a grand, echoing cathedral. Her skin like porcelain, eyes as blue as ice. Hair as light and warm as the noonday sun. Her smile... He regretted not shaking her hand. Even as he secured his own work, and boarded a ship to work not on Earth-- but in _space_. Aboard a new space station designed by a successful Chinese development and engineering company-- _Lijiang Industries._

It would be here that he would work on his own groundbreaking theories. A chance of a lifetime, and more.

_**Harnessing Gravity.** _

Siebren pushed his fancy for the young doctor aside. Whatever his imagination let him want, he had been down that road before. A marriage ended from too much devotion to his work. He knew it was for the best-- she had her whole life ahead of her. He was too far gone.

And so he delved into his work. Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. Months to years. He stopped paying much attention to the news, absorbed in his equations, his thoughts, consumed by his theories. His assistants compiling his work into notes, and from there, his notes published into papers. With that money, it funded further research. Revolve, repeat. A circle of science and funding. He made steady progress. Prototypes of machines gone and by, and finally-- a _breakthrough!_

_No. No, this wasn’t right._

He saw fire, and ice, and an infinite, crushing nothingness-- a darkness that pulled him in enough that he lost himself. He was floating, and falling, and splitting, and coming together, and whatever glimpses of people he saw were gone in a flash. There was no time for fear, yet it felt as though he had all the time in the universe. It was a sense of damning calm, as though the universe itself was clicking its tongue at he, the hapless child that happened to make a mark on mother’s freshly painted, star-dotted wall. 

_His_ mark. In the shape of an accretion disk, just at his fingertips. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sigma had lost track of time while he was working under Talon’s authoritative claw. He would wake, don his armor, and do whatever they asked him to do. They told him that they were freedom fighters, pursuing peace for a better world from corrupt politicians and faulty scientists. Days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and he worked dutifully for his rescuers. 

But he had been confused-- told that he had been falsely accused, that he had been imprisoned due to someone fearing his work. And so a manhunt had commenced over the years, the astrophysicist slowly being melded into something far more sinister than he had ever anticipated he could be. 

A weapon. 

At first, he would hesitate-- a job ending in the death of someone that he had been told had worked against him. Begging for a life cut short by someone else finishing it off for him. 

Over time, it grew easier. Easier to reach out with his mind, thanks to the augmentations that Dr. O’Deorain had fitted him with. Mental augmentations, allowing him to bend gravity as he so choose-- as though he didn’t conform to the laws Isaac Newton had described centuries prior. The one exception. The one variable in the wide universe of mathematics. 

Over time, he would use his harness to strike fear in those who opposed Talon’s Just cause. He realized the world was filled with nonbelievers, those who’se heads had been filled with twisted lies. That is, until Moira stopped him, one day. 

“You have become quite brutal in your work, Subject Sigma.” She leaned against the door frame, wiry arms crossed over her chest. “Like a trained killer.” 

_ That wasn’t his name. _ He reminded himself, looking up from his workstation, scattered with datapads and papers. He had been catching up on scientific work that he had missed while he had been under capture-- several years worth of reading. 

The geneticist stepped over, humming to herself. Always, there was an air of aristocracy about her-- yet he couldn’t quite place why. He knew very little of his colleagues, in hindsight. Her spindly, metal-plated fingers graced his shoulders as she rounded his chair. “Mr. Ogundimu almost fears you may be getting  _ too _ powerful.” 

“I would never harm anyone here.” He insisted, that ringing in his ears making him flinch-- that damned  _ melody _ sparking just under the surface of the sound, almost barely discernible. His eyes jammed shut, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the noise, to no avail. 

“Are you sure about that, dear?” She prodded, quirking a brow. One of his hands came up to cup at his forehead, attempting to still the sound. 

He had opened his mouth to speak, but Moira continued, never losing that little knowing smirk. “Perhaps we should give you more sedatives, mm? Pull you off the teams for a while.”

“No, no, no, I can work--”   
  
“Nonsense.” She grinned, tapping at his arm and stalking off. “I only wish the best for you, my dear.” 

The ringing grew worse, and he grit his teeth as he watched her walk off. As the door closed behind her, the room fell dark-- and the datapads in front of him also lost their power. 

“What is going on!” He yelled out, standing from his chair and nearly falling from the ringing in his head. 

There was no answer, and as he stumbled to the door, it remained shut--  _ locked. _

“What!” he yelled out again, his fist making contact with the door with a loud  _ thud. _ Again, there was no answer. “Let me out! Let me work!” He yelled again, growing angrier by the second. 

But in the end, he was left alone. 

This treatment continued for weeks-- anytime he flinched, each time he made mention of the noises he heard or the ringing that drove him insane, he would be locked away-- given ‘time off’ in solitary. It drove him insane, loneliness driving him to improve.  


Eventually, he learned to cope, to ignore it, and to grasp it, if only to escape his room for missions-- as though he simply lived for Talon’s gains. 

The noose that Talon had him under grew ever tighter, however-- he soon was not allowed out of his room without armed guard, before he was not allowed out of his room at all. It was as though he were a pet project, losing his freedom with each added layer of ‘security.’ His self worth deteriorated, and he was left to rot. 

_Anger._ Anger is what he began to feel, bubbling up in his chest, almost making him feel as though he could scream. But he didn’t.

Sigma sat alone in his room, thinking about everything that had transpired. He was glassy eyed, staring at the wall in front of him. Fury was evident in his sharp eyes, almost like a small flame was burning in them.

That damn melody rang through his head - he had built somewhat of a tolerance to it at this point, but when he was angry, the sound of it was deafening and unbearable for him.

He felt a small itch in his arm, and looking down he could see the shape of something inside of it. Stretching out the skin with a pull, he looked closer, the shape resembling that of a pill.

Sigma’s eyes went wide, running a finger over the bump to make sure it was actually there and he wasn’t hallucinating.  _ How had he never noticed it there before? _

And then that’s when he realized that this was a chip that was implanted inside of him. His pulse began to race and sweat dotted his forehead. The room felt like it was disappearing all around him, his vision beginning to intensely focus on this foreign object in his arm.

Sigma began to claw lightly at it, not really realizing what he was doing, his mind racked and blank from panic alone. He applied more pressure, blood now oozing out of the open wound. Had he been a test subject? All those times he’d been given a sedative to calm down, had they put things inside him? What else was there? 

His adrenaline ran high, continuously digging at it and ripping open more of his flesh. Red tainted his vision, the melody in his mind turning into screeching, off-key notes the further he pulled it open. He was far past the first few layers of skin, muscle now visible. Blood poured from his arm and onto his bed - but that didn’t stop him, the adrenaline making him not feel the pain.

Sigma could see the twinkle of the object in his room’s light, and without a second thought, he gripped it and yanked it out, letting out a yelp. The little device fell out and clattered to the floor, ripped from a nerve with a twitch and a spark of a wire.

He gasped and panted, looking up to the ceiling in  _ relief. _

The melody… _it’s gone._

* * *

"Ma'am, there's a situation in Subject Sigma's room." An attendant rushed to her, flashing the security footage of her pet project's room in question. Most of the lights had been busted from the ceiling, one hanging loosely and flickering in the corner of the camera’s vision. Sigma sat idly in the center of the screen, looking up to the ceiling as if lost in thought, turning away from the camera in his room.

"What is it?" She asked, annoyed.

"His chip. We're not receiving any more input from it. He dug it out of his arm." We have security on the way, but with the situation right now, we can't afford to lose anyone else--"

" _ Impossible. _ " She hissed, before she turned on her heel, a breath leaving her as her body dissolved-- rocketing forward and out of the room. It didn't take her long to rocket through the fulcrum, rushing past and through anyone in her way, like a vengeful ghost rushing to glory. Finally, she rematerialized in front of Siebren's door, just as collected as she had been minutes prior. But an anger seethed under the surface, barely masked behind a cruel smile.

She didn't knock, and the security outside the door followed her in without a word.

" _ A mhuirnín. _ [My Dear.] What on  _ Earth _ are you doing?" She asked, that same smile crossing her face as she entered. Her tone was light, kind, despite the anger that dwelled underneath. "A little bird told me you've done something very bad. And you know we can't have that, now."

He remained silent, giving her a deathly, intimidating glare as he turned where he sat. 

The security team surrounded Moira-- unnecessary, she thought, but nevertheless, she seemed unfazed. This wasn't the time for a security breach.  _ They had to come together _ , as Akande had put it. Foolish sentiment, but nevertheless one she had to put up with.

"Stand do--!" One of the security guards ordered, his rifle, along with the others, aimed directly at the subject in question. Though, he'd been stopped by Moira's slender, miscolored hand coming up. Her eyes narrowed-- something about the man had changed. His demeanor was filled with  _ hate _ . With  _ distaste _ . His intimidation was lost on her, and she stood firm. She still had the power.  _ She always did. _

"My, my,  _ A mhuirnín _ . You certainly seem to have been  _ naughty _ ." She glanced down to his bleeding arm, the trickle of blood following the lines of the musculature of his frame, before dripping down his fingers and to the floor. "And here, I thought we worked so hard to make you such a  _ good boy. _ " What a setback, months of mental conditioning, wasted in a matter of moments. Nevertheless, she was patient-- A few sedatives would make it easy to replace the chip that funneled those delightful noises into his nervous system. 

She smiled again, taking a few steps forward, the security team following close behind. Their anxiety was present in their minute hesitations, one's hands even tightening on his rifle at his shoulder. But she showed no signs of that remorse, no signs of fear. "Come, now. Let's get you bandaged up. Your condition is  _ fragile. _ "

**_“Shut up.”_ **

Sigma’s voice was stern, the anger evident from his tone. His usual soft, periwinkle eyes gleamed with hatred, looking right through the woman who stood before him. He understood, now. He understood everything that she had done.

The hatred that bubbled up in his chest came to a boiling point, the feeling no longer ignorable. With swift motions, Subject Sigma threw a fist down, sending the security team slamming to the ground. They panicked, unable to move and felt like an invisible force was keeping them down.

With Moira still standing before him, knees bent and  _ fearful _ in all but a moment, he wasted no time in grabbing her by the neck with his free hand, his grip vice-like. Teeth bared, her usually stoic face marred by the lines of distaste forming around her mouth. A miscolored hand came up to grasp at his wrist, nails digging ruthlessly into his skin, clawing at him to get free. Her mismatched eyes bore into him, kicking about as he effortlessly lifted her from her feet. That smile she'd worn only moments prior melted away into anger, and into fear above all else. The panicked yells of the security team filled her hearing, along with the pounding of her heart in her ears.

_ “I’m sick of you.”  _ He hissed, his grip tightening.

Any retort she would have had was drowned by his hand at her throat. Only the choked gasps of her struggling for air could be heard. And within all but a moment, her head already felt fuzzy from the lack of blood flow to her brain.

_ Damn. This was bad. _

She closed her eyes, and in a moment, her form dissipated, the cloud she'd dissolved into twisting around him. She reappeared at his back, a gasp of air letting her return to the moment. "Stand down, pet. I don't want to have to hurt you." She hissed, dark, biotic energy rolling down her arm. It wouldn't kill him, but she could sap his energy enough to at least keep her alive. And _ that _ was what mattered. She could replicate the data she'd gathered on Subject Sigma's condition. She could do it again.  _ And do it better. _

" _ Now. _ " She added-- it wasn't a request. Where she was used to her assistants cowering at the tone, she knew it would take far more than just that to get his attention, again. And so with a flick of her wrist, the corrupted caduceus technology reached out, latching onto his biometric signature, again and again, zapping at him like a parent’s lash of a belt.

A pang shot through his body as the red-head used the ability against him, a short wail escaping him. However, he remained unfazed by her attempt to subdue him, his anger and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he turned around to grasp her neck again. This time, he used his gravitational power to pull her in, the pressure around her much worse than before.

He looked down at her, his usual soft, periwinkle eyes now bewildered and filled with pure hatred. This was a side of Sigma that no one ever saw, even in battle he never had this same vicious look on his face.

_ I want you to look at me as I wring the pathetic life out of you.  _ The phrase repeated itself in his mind as he looked at her, as though a switch had been flipped. 

His grip tightened, teeth clenched and bared as he put more power into his hold on her.

She'd tried to dematerialize again, to shift from his grip, but something held her in place. Like a cocoon, a spider wrapping its victim in silk and immobilizing her nomatter how much she struggled. It was fascinating, seeing such a raw display of power take hold. But she was on the wrong side. She shouldn't have been prey. She was better than this. Her hands shook, and she couldn't help but watch the beam of caduceus tech get cut off from its link to him. Pushed away by the power of gravity alone. And while there was a minor surge to her own body's resilience, it wouldn't last.

She managed to bring her hands up to clasp at his wrist again, shaking against the gravity that seemed to push against her at every angle. Squeezing her, as though she were about to be crushed by stones.

Teeth bared as she struggled, kicked, eyes wide as she looked to Siebren, looked to the security that were trapped helplessly on the floor behind them. Her hands clenched tightly against his skin, nails clawing for any sort of purchase. But none was to be found-- there was no remorse, no mercy in his fingers.

Moira let out a choked sob, eyes beginning to water. Pitiful. Desperate. She could do nothing, and even though the security called for backup, she knew that they wouldn't get there in time. She tried again and again to shift away, to dematerialize, but every time she did, the gravitational force that bound her in place only seemed to tighten. Finally, the sound of one of her ribs snapping could be heard, followed by a second, and a third. There was a rumble in her throat as she tried to cry out, but nothing could escape.

_ Nothing ever did escape from a black hole, now did it? _

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes; not necessarily from the intense fury that was ablaze through him, but he was finally getting his revenge after all this time. His revenge for all the times she tested on him, prodding and poking him like he was nothing more than a test animal to her. The flashbacks of her putting him under electroshock therapy during the very few times he did attempt to go against her flashed through his mind, the pain something that he could never forget.

Sigma had it in his mind that when Talon saved him from that god awful facility, they were his saviors and he should be ever gratuitous for everything they did for him. But as time went on, he learned of how they actually were, and were far from being his angelic saviors, turning into his torturous captors and being treated much the same as he was in the previous facility.

_ Moira played with fire, and now she was going to burn. _

Sigma kept tightening and tightening his grip, her neck feeling as though it was crushing under this pressure alone. Both hands were on her, and he wasn’t letting go. His thumbs were placed over her throat, making sure that he was going to crush her windpipe. Her gasps and struggles were like music to his ears, a sense of peace and tranquility washing over him in that moment.

His eyes watched hers through all of this, previously unfeeling and serious eyes now filled with fear.  _ How the tables have turned, to now be the one who cowers before me. _

Her desperate clawing began to dull, with time-- where he put up a fight, and stood as a brick wall for her to scrape away from, she clawed and writhed like a frantic, rabid animal in a too-small cage. She fought for survival, yet it certainly was a losing one. Nevertheless, her nails gouged into his skin, tearing it open. She kicked at him, her shoes planting hard at his ribs-- But with the adrenaline that most assuredly coursed through him, she doubted he could feel it. Her eyes bulged, mouth frothing and tongue visible as her body began to kick in to the primal instincts of fear.

She was furious. Furious and desperate. Where she usually wore an arrogant visage, a queen atop her throne, she now felt like a desperate peasant in the hands of a vengeful God. How long had passed? Shit, had she lost count? Precious seconds ticked by as her brain began to slow, consumed by a burning haze.

Her wide eyes rolled up into her head, tears now spilling over as her pale skin turned a bright red. After a moment or two more, her strength began to wane. And finally, her hands slipped from where they dug into his wrist, the movements clumsy and haphazard as the seconds tick, tick, ticked by. Her thrashing stilled, and for a moment, the scientist almost looked at peace. Though, her lip quivered, and her arms twitched as they fell heavily to her sides, body convulsing. The room was spinning, Moira sputtering as her consciousness faded.

Without hesitation, Sigma flung her lifeless body to the ground in-between the guards that he kept down. His eyes looked at her like she was nothing but a piece of garbage, a queen who had been removed from her throne and reduced to a nobody. The marks of his fingertips were visible as oval bruises that spotted her neck, in between discolored flesh.

Sigma’s eyes glanced amongst the group of guardsmen, all of them looking up at him like they were nothing but cornered animals, pleading that he didn’t do the same to them.

He knew he had to leave, otherwise his only other option will be to be killed. As horrific as a person Moira was, they wouldn’t allow for someone in the inner circle to be killed, and by a subject no less.

As if on cue, however, gunfire could be heard outside the door-- screaming and the sounds of fighting, before the door slid open. A masked Talon grunt entered, backwards-- firing several more rounds behind him in a burst fire spray, covering them before the door slammed shut behind him. A fist broke the screen covering the hand scanner, effectively locking them in. They would be safe, for a moment.

The trademark Talon Red helmet turned to the scene before them. Cowering security staff. An unconscious doctor. A lone victor. He didn't hesitate to lift his rifle, dispatching those that were pinned to the floor with ruthless intent before he stripped his helmet off, a flash of palms to show he was no threat. "Dr. de Kuiper?" The man asked, his short hair dreadlocked and brown eyes boring into him. Siebren nodded in alarm, backing up, his hands shaking. "Looks like I came just in time." His Haitian Creole was hard on his lips, English almost sounding foreign on his tongue. "...Dr. Ziegler sent me. I'm here to get you out of here. Are you hurt?" He huffed, still breathless from the exertion.

“D-Dr. Ziegler?” Sigma’s first words uttered out of his mouth since Dr. O’Deorain’s attack, his voice meek and cracking. A visage of the beautiful young woman from what felt like a lifetime ago filled his head-- a visage he had nearly forgotten-- before a loud bang could be heard outside the room.

"Shit. No time. They'll be in here soon. They'll burn the door down." He stepped carefully over the body of Dr. O'Deorain. His exolegs clattered as he moved, not bothering to be quiet. "We have three minutes to get to the roof. There's a ship coming around soon enough. Come on. I'll explain everything once we're not being  _ shot at. _ " He tilted his head toward the door, helmet being replaced and gun raised to his shoulder once more. Siebren moved a hand over the gaping holes in his arm, his adrenaline beginning to wear off and feeling the stinging, mind-numbing pain. Blood still seeped through it and dripped to the floor without signs of stopping, and miraculously he wasn’t in the slightest dizzy or lightheaded, considering how much blood he had lost at this point.

The stranger eyed the man's injuries from over his shoulder, nodding. Hopefully the man could make it to the ship, where he could stabilize him at least. There was another bang at the door, and a bright red fizzling could be seen on the hardened metal. 

"Here. This should tide you over until we get to the ship." There was a switch flicked on his rifle, and he aimed a biotic grenade at Sigma's feet. There was a flash of light, and a high-pitched whine as a biotic canister deployed. It was his last one-- and so it'd have to tide them over for the moment before they ran out. Within moments, the cuts, scratches, and holes in the astrophysicist were already healing up utilizing his body's own natural healing ability. Simply... Supercharged.

The door caved a few moments later, and the stranger flinched as he spun back around, ushering the escapee out of the line of sight of the door, the switch flicking back on his rifle to it's original position as he opened fire on the intruders. _ Bang, bang bang! Bang, bang bang! _ He pushed forward, his military training not failing him now.

"Stick close to me!" He called out, motioning the man forward, unknowing if he could help fight back. Sigma did as he said, following right on the man’s heel as he lead him out of the room. Sigma attempted to crouch behind him to avoid being shot, his large form still very noticeable behind the smaller man.

The stranger led the man through corridors, up stairs, knocking over any spare furniture that could slow any enemies down and provide a semblance of cover. He subconsciously thanked his good aim for conserving ammunition. It wasn't until the final stretch of the base when his rifle  _ click, click, click'ed _ the devastating truth of his last clip finally emptying. It was a final three floors of stairs, past the fulcrum's penthouse and up and through the staff staircase, before they'd reach the roof and the helipad. He'd taken a few shots himself, grazes, mostly, scrapes and scratches and nicks were the least of his concerns.  _ This was a suicide mission. _ Thank god his timing had been impeccable-- and he'd waited for most of Talon to be off base before he'd struck, even with the alarm that had been raised throughout the building.

A finger came up to his ear, and he barked into his earpiece. "Need support! We're almost up but I'm out of ammo!" He called, waiting for a response as he slammed the stairway door shut behind them. A solid punch to the lock would hold them off, but not for long. "Go, up the stairs. We're almost there." The sound of a roaring airship could be heard through the echo of the staircase, reverberating around the stranger’s voice-- that was most likely their ride. At the direction, Siebren nodded, voice haggard as he darted up the stairs two at a time. 

Though, as the medic followed up the stairs, the door behind them caved in-- kicked right off its rolling track. Bullets flew, shouts between the Talon operatives could be heard, and Baptiste stumbled as it felt as though the back of his neck had been hit hard with a baseball bat. Another hit, getting him in the side as he'd tried to turn. He crumpled, stumbling up a few more steps before collapsing against the stairwell wall, coughing and gasping for air inside the stolen Talon helmet.

"Secure Subject Sigma!" One of the agents bellowed, and the stranger looked up the stairs after Siebren.  _ Pa kounye-a _ . [Not now.] They were so close!

"Go!" The stranger choked out, his voice distorted by the helmet he wore, sticking out his leg to trip an agent as the man ran past. "Get out of here!" But the man didn’t run, he turned, looking at the situation with a wide-eyed, panicked glare. Sigma made leaps down the stairs, his hands coming up to shove the operatives back with a force of labored gravity, quick to scoop up the mysterious operative as the others went tumbling down in heaps. He couldn’t leave the stranger behind, not after finally rescuing him and giving him the one thing he dreamt about the most: freedom. Thankfully, Sigma was strong enough to where he could hold him.

He made the winding steps all the way to the top, to his final destination and where he awaited freedom once and for all. Shouts from guards and clambering footsteps could be heard behind them, but as Sigma managed to step through the roof’s door, he slammed it shut in place, using what energy he had left to lock with his gravitational abilities.

He looked ahead, noticing the large drop ship that awaited them. A large insignia of Overwatch was emblazoned on its side. The stranger waved lazily at it, before falling limp in the man’s arms.

_ Finally. I’m free. _

Sigma ran towards the ship and aboard its opened landing bay, the stranger still held in his arms. His shaky breaths were growing more labored, Sigma worrying if the man would survive given the fact he was shot in vital areas and was bleeding profusely.

A nurse was there as the door closed behind them, already easing the stranger from Siebren's arms. The helmet came off, tossed aside. It'd served its purpose. The chestpiece came off, and the insulating bodysuit underneath was cut and tore to get to where the man had been shot. Another nurse appeared, the duo working to hold the man down as they fished for the bullets in his neck and his side with a pair of tweezers, wasting no time. The stranger groaned, involuntarily thrashing against them before he was jabbed with a caduceus IV drip and securely had his wounds wrapped with gauze. Within a few minutes, the man stilled, and the duo of nurses began tending to Siebren. Cleaning what was left of his wounds, bandaging him with equally quick fingers, and hooking him up to a similar IV. Both of the nurses wore Ziegler Foundation jackets-- the large "Z" on their arms hanging just above their name embroidery and their medic status.

It took several long minutes for the stranger to finally sit up, clutching at his now-bandaged neck. Adrenaline still running full force through his veins, he waved off one of the nurses' comments on laying down and staying still, looking to Siebren. "Alright." His voice was hoarse, mouth smeared with blood that he'd coughed up, but he was alive. And so was Siebren. But as the IV drip began to empty in his arm, little flecks of gold appeared under his dark skin, highlighting his veins as it roamed through. Sweat dotted his brow, his short dreadlocks falling heavy against his face.

"I am Jean Baptiste Augustin. Simply _Baptiste_ for short. One of the few who have ever escaped Talon. Now, you have, too." He managed a smile, wincing at the feeling in his neck. He was lucky that the bullet had only gone through an artery, and not his spinal cord or his windpipe. He leaned back against the wall of the airship as it lifted away, the sounds of gunfire bouncing off the ship’s energy shields causing the little group little concern. They weren’t out of hot water, yet, but there was clearly enough trust in the pilots as the ship roared away from the Fulcrum. “Now, I promised you answers. So ask away, my friend.” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Impressions.

Overwatch’s Recall had been in operation for nearly a year. Supported by the League of Nations-- the community of city states that had united post-crisis-- Gibraltar, Hong Kong, The Vatican, Singapore, and others, Overwatch managed to squeak by. They had supplies needed, personnel in roles filled, and the Watchpoints around the world began to fill with agents and recruits alike. Their numbers weren’t like they were in their golden days, but they got things done. They were striking blows against Talon everywhere they went-- Teams taking out supplies, intel runners doing their best keeping tabs on the organization. Talon was seeking to start another Crisis-- potentially ending the human race as they knew it. 

And so they had to be stopped before they reached their goal. 

But it was difficult--easier said than done-- Whatever they did, it seemed that Talon always seemed to be one step ahead of them. Where Overwatch stopped an incident in one location, Talon would succeed in another. Civilian casualties-- Human and Omnic alike. With each passing day, they teetered further and further toward the cliffs of war.

Angela Ziegler was one of them-- having joined back up as soon as she could. She immediately took her place as head of medical sciences-- spearheading the organization and along with Winston, and the newly rescued Mei-Ling Zhou, hoped to point this new Overwatch down a better path. They adamantly insisted they were not a Mercenary group, nor did they have any semblance of a Blackwatch organization in their ranks. Jesse McCree and Genji Shimada served just as much as the rest of them. Reinhardt, Brigitte and Torbjorn all returned of their own volition. Miss Fareeha volunteered her time, as well. With a daring rescue to Rio, they even had Lucio Correia dos Santos and Satya Vaswani-- a Vishkar defector. Even Hanzo-- Genji’s older brother-- had joined their ranks. Lena was present, her girlfriend in toe. The little family they had all been once before seemed to come together once again. More had joined them, over time. 

**Thursday, November 18th, 2077.**

**0319.**

Angela didn’t know the specifics on how the mission went down. Nor, did she entirely care at the moment. She’d been bogged down with work at base-- requisition orders, several video conferences with UN officials, and her usual filing and medical paperwork-- and had been ultimately unable to tag along on the mission. and so when she’d been awoken by Athena requesting urgent assistance to the returning team, she didn’t waste a moment getting ready. A pair of flats, her usual black-on-black, her hair thrown up into a quick, messy bun. She looked tired, but still threw on her usual bit of makeup to hide that fact. 

The prisoner—patient— _asset--_ had been 'captured', on her request. Athena believed the man to be rather important in Talon’s ranks— one of their scientists, judging by biometric scan and matching reports alone. Siebren de Kuiper, an astrophysicist that had been institutionalized following an accident that left many people dead. He’d gone missing following another incident involving Talon agents seemingly breaking him out— and now... here he was. Working with Talon? Or for them? Her colleagues wanted to know. They all needed to know. This could severely hurt Talon as they knew it. Baptiste had been sent; their only agent who had enough know how of Talon's Fulcrum to free Dr. de Kuiper. 

“Angie, You gotta be careful with that guy. His file weirds me out. Story doesn't add up.” Jesse crossed his arms in front of his chest, the American furrowing his brow at the medic as she checked over the man’s file that Athena had prepared for her. He’d taken off his hat, a gesture of respect to Angela in her wing. “Guy took a couple’a bullets and still came comin’. He’s not to be messed with, darlin’.”

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler. McCree is right.” Genji insisted, the cyborg taking a similar stance as the two of them urged Angela to be careful. “He has a power unlike anything we have ever seen. It would be best if you didn’t go in alone--”

  
“I will be _fine_ , gentlemen.” She responded, giving a warm, appreciative smile to them both. She appreciated their concern-- but she had handled all sorts of patients. “If he is as unstable as you insist, It would be best not to overcrowd him. Plus-- I wasn’t there, and so he likely won’t recognize me as easily. Perhaps from the old posters... But... he will hopefully _not_ equate me with violence. It will be okay.” She reached out and patted at them both, to which Jesse simply sighed and shook his head. 

“Ya really are a handful, doc. Yer gonna getch’yerself hurt, yannow that?” 

“I am aware, Jesse. Thank you.” She reached up and tapped the man’s nose with a fingertip, scanning over the datapad with her eyes one last time before she turned to the door in question.

“The prisoner has been sedated to keep him still. He is also cuffed to the bed as per procedure.” Athena’s voice piped up from the nearby wall interface-- the insignia lighting up and catching her attention. They couldn't take any chances after what had happened with Amelie and Gerard all those years ago, she supposed.

Angela was to stabilize his condition, and hopefully get any information she could out of him. She was used to strange patient cases— just look at Genji, and Reinhardt, and even McCree. First, though… She had to stop the sedative and get him _coherent_. 

The medic dismissed the armed guards outside the door to the room— who both insisted she leave the restraints on the man, and that he was incredibly dangerous. They insisted to stay nearby— but she retorted and demanded to have at least the room’s privacy. She was sure she could handle the man herself. There was no patient that she had been unable to deal with before-- and she had almost a lifetime of experience. 

And so... she stepped into the room, spying the behemoth of a man where he lay. Sedated, injured, hooked to a caduceus IV that had been slowly fixing his injuries. Returning him to the peak of health. His file claimed that he was unpredictable and dangerous, yet she entered the room unarmed-- confident. Baptiste sat nearby, arms crossed over his chest as he slept in his chair. Angela couldn't help but smile at them both. A tap to his shoulder was enough to wake Baptiste, and the other medic only straightened in his chair before looking to Dr. de Kuiper.

"He knows you, Ma'am." Baptiste mused, leaning forward in his chair.

"A lot of people know me, Jean." Her shoes tapped on the tile as she approached, quietly pinching off the sedative stream into Dr. de Kuiper's IV, and ultimately removing the needle from the injection point. It would take several minutes for him to come to, and so she simply looked over his file on a datapad--committing things to memory-- until the man began to stir, his eyes opening and his mouth curling into a confused frown. He was tall-- akin to that of Reinhardt, she supposed. He’d been given basic pants after his gear had been stripped, and was tucked in to the bed with a hardlight cuff keeping his IV arm in place, secured to the bed. Another hardlight strip crossed his hips, holding him down. His face was scarred, and his mouth curled down in a frown line-- this man had certainly led a rough life-- just looking at his face alone. His frown turned into a grimace as he shifted slightly, obviously still sore. 

“Can you hear me, Dr. Kuiper?” She asked, her voice soft and as comforting as she could manage as the man furrowed his brow and blinked away the bright lights of the hospital room. His eyes focused first on the ceiling, then drifted over to her as she repeated her question-- taking the little medic in and looking her up and down--sizing her up.

In all but a moment, he was awake and coherent, snapping to attention as he seemed to realize his situation-- his face twisting in anger as he yanked his arm up at the cuff, letting out a furious growl at the restraint. His breath hitched, anger and panic setting in as he pulled again, and again, and again. He looked to Baptiste, and to Angela, and he let out another furious grunt. 

“Dr. Kuiper, I need you to calm down--” She started, her hands reaching out to try and steady him-- only to have a lashing hand grasp roughly at her chest with a tightened fist, drawing her up and in close by the shirt as he half-sat up. 

“Release me!” He bellowed, and at that moment the woman was lifted from the ground ever so slightly-- not by force alone, however. The room almost felt lighter, the floor rumbling as though he caused it to shift and shake. “I will be a prisoner no longer! I was _promised!_ ” The medic kicked her legs, her mouth curling into a grimace and her brows furrowing in almost fear. 

“Dr. Kuiper, I--!!” She started, before Baptiste intervened.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's alright." Dark hands touched at Dr. de Kuiper's shoulders, pulling the man's attention away from his commander. "Let's talk. It's alright. No one here aims to hurt you." A pause, and Baptiste tilted his head to the side, gesturing to the glowing gold caduceus IV above his head, its line trailing into his arm. "You were at that convention, right? When she told the world about her thesis? You told me you met her then. You know her, she sent me for you!"

Sigma paused, periwinkle eyes flicking to the caduceus IV as it hung above him. There was a moment of silence, a moment of shaking breath. After a few seconds, his eyes turned back to Angela-- the spectre of a woman who had haunted him all these years, and his fist was clenched in the fabric of her shirt. She weighed so little, and he could barely tell if it was his own strength or his mind that lifted her and several other objects in the room. Bright blue eyes looked at him, surprised far more than afraid. 

"Put her down, big guy. Neither of us mean you any harm." Baptiste said, and it was as though he suddenly came to. He snapped to attention, gently returning the acting-commander to the floor as though she were made of glass. Movements slow, deliberate, delicate.

"I..." Dr. de Kuiper started, slowly pulling his hand he'd used in rage back to his side. "I am so sorry."

Angela dusted herself off, nodding in thanks to Baptiste as the medic's hands moved away from Sigma's shoulders. "You are forgiven, Dr. de Kuiper." She smiled, righting her clothing as though he hadn't touched her at all.

The smile made him hate the fact he even breathed the same air as her. It was warm, kind, and genuine. Like the first light after a terrible storm. An offer of grace. His gut twisted in anxiety as she turned to retrieve a datapad that had been dropped, looking to his vitals screen and scribbling on the datapad's surface for a few moments, and throwing a knowing look to Baptiste.

"I apologize for this whole situation, Dr. de Kuiper." Baptiste murmured, moving to sit back down. "For the record, they had to cuff me as well when I first arrived here."

"It isn't the first time we have... acquired operatives from Talon. Once, one of our informants ended up killed because of our carelessness." Angela's voice was blunt, still writing on her datapad.

"Amelie La'Croix." Siebren looked down at his lap, cupping at his forehead.

Blue eyes flicked down at Siebren where he sat, mouth pressed into a line. "You know her, I presume?"

Siebren sat quietly for many moments, before nodding. "She was... A shell. Emotionless, cold. I thought that that was just how she was... I--I'd never met her prior to... what happened, but--"

"Let's not talk about her." Baptiste offered a smile, standing up and undoing the man's hardlight restraints fully. "You're at Overwatch's base of Operations, in Gibraltar. You've been asleep for a few hours."

"I don't remember going to sleep."

"The water I gave you on the ship. It--" Baptiste started to explain, but Siebren only huffed.

"You could have told me."

"That was the point, my friend. I hope you'll forgive me."

"He was only following protocol, Dr. de Kuiper." Angela mused, a gentle hand placing itself on Siebren's shoulder as she sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand was warm, and it made his heart skip a beat, periwinkle eyes looking to her searchingly.

There was a knock at the door, and Angela's attention was pulled away as the door opened to an omnic nurse bringing in a tray of food, setting it on the side table next to Siebren's bed.

"Thank you, Sybil." Angela smiled at the nurse, until she caught two more peering faces from the door frame. Jesse and Genji. Jesse's face was twisted into a distrusting almost _anger,_ while Genji's was always unreadable. Protective, furious. She only smiled reassuringly at them both, and Jesse crossed his arms in front of his chest before the door closed, the omnic nurse leaving the room once more.

"I am sure you're hungry, friend." Baptiste mused, and Angela stood, reaching to the side table to deliver the food to Siebren's lap. Toast, an unopened bottle of Orange Juice, an apple and some yogurt-- staples in hospital cuisine.

"If this isn't enough, feel free to ask for more." Angela added, looking to Baptiste with a nod. "I will let you rest, for now. Baptiste, why don't you go back to your quarters? You deserve rest, as well." Information that was needed would have to come later. 

Siebren's heart panged as he realized he'd be left alone again, and he looked up to her, and then up to Baptiste. Frantic, almost. Don't leave him alone again, he was fit for work, he was--

"No, no, I'm fine, I--"

"Dr. Ziegler, why not leave him with at least something to keep him busy?" Baptiste's tone was gentle, knowing, as he gathered his jacket from the back of the chair he'd settled into. She had no idea what he'd been through-- but Baptiste had an inkling.

Angela paused for a moment, before nodding. "My apologies, of course. I will be right back." Angela took a step back, collecting herself and disappearing through the door within a few seconds. The room fell into silence, before Baptiste only turned on his heel and laughed lightly. 

" _Now_ it makes sense, doctor." He laughed, shaking his head.

"E-Excuse me?" Siebren furrowed his brow, collecting his orange juice and cracking the bottle open.

"You love her, don't you?" He turned to Siebren, nodding, a knowing smile across his face as though he were teasing an old friend. "You _love_ Commander Ziegler!"


End file.
